Trust
by Catlover friendly-but-xplosive
Summary: Honour Thy Father #3. Bylestir returns to Asgard to make amends to Thor, and Thor lets him in again.


**Trust**

The dwarves try not to show their fear of the terrifyingly calm Jotun before them. One is speaking as smoothly as he can, and Bylestir feels himself smiling as he stutters. Let them suffer, just a fraction of what Thor did because of the binds they made.

"We cannot tell you," the dwarf says, kneading his hands together. "Not unless you pay the price for that knowledge."

"And what price is that?" The dwarves look at each other and then at him. Another steps forward, bravely.

"We wish to see the effects of the binds on him," he says. "They were custom built for him, to contain his strength, to sap his spirit, and-" The smith is getting enthusiastic about it. It is the wrong thing to say.

Bylestir roars and charges at them.

XX

Thor will not seek revenge, he knows. He will be tempted, he will be angry, but he will not take revenge. Even after all this time, all he has being through, he is too good a person.

With that in mind, Bylestir leaves the smiths alive.

XX

He is greeted by a smiling Heimdall when he arrives in Asgard. He inclines his head to him.

"Greetings, Laufeyson," he says. Bylestir inclines his head respectfully to the Aesir gatekeeper.

"I wish to see Thor," he says.

XX

Thor is in the royal suite with Sif and his son, telling Bruadar tales of Odin Allfather while Sif tells tales of her ancestors. The boy is enraptured. He turns at the footsteps and stares at Bylestir for a moment. His body cannot decide whether he is glad or afraid to see him. Bylestir waits for him to decide.

That decision is to smile shakily and beckon him in.

"We are recounting tales of our valiant ancestors to Bruadar my son," he says. "Have you any to tell?" And that is how Bylestir and the Aesir he cares for as if they are his flesh and blood come to be laughing and feasting together that night. Bruadar is in his arms, clutching around his neck, tracing the patterns on his face and asking for the stories behind them. Thor and Sif watch warily as Bylestir swings the child in the air, but do not stop him playing. Their hands are clutched and when one steps forward when a high, delighted laugh is too much like a scream the other holds them back.

Bylestir does not make them endure it long. He puts Bruadar down and both his parents instantly move forward to claim him.

"Don't you trust Bylestir?" Bruadar asks confused. "He brought Gungnir back, you let him play with me." Sif's smile is sad.

"It's more complicated than that, son," she says, soothing his blonde hair. He opens his mouth to ask.

"When you're older," Thor says and he scowls, his nose scrunching up adorably. Before he can protest Bylestir speaks from his place on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Listen to your parents," he says. "You're not old enough to hear this yet." Unhappily, he stomps from the room, and Bylestir does not miss the catch in both Aesir's breath and the sharp movements of their heads as their eyes follow him. He sighs sadly. What have his people done to the Aesir?

XX

Later that night Thor is in the feasting hall when Bylestir joins him.

"Thor," he murmurs as he comes up behind him so not to startle him. "Your son is beautiful." Pride creases his lined face.

"He is," he says and they are silent for a long time. "His name means 'dream', you know," Thor says suddenly. Bylestir turns to look at him. "Sif and I have made this world for him. So that he need not suffer." They share a look, a sad, mournful look. "Have you children, Bylestir?" He shakes his head.

"I do not," he says. "Thor… I am happy you found happiness. I so worried for you." Their eyes both slide to the corner where he was so often chained.

_Night has fallen and the vast hall is empty, except for himself and the slumped, exhausted Aesir chained in a corner, completely naked, bruises flowering over his body. He's crying, holding his thighs tightly together, trying to shrink in on himself, and he feels pity catch his heart. He fought this warrior until it was only his height that granted him victory; it was an epic battle, and this is what it ends in. He wishes he had never taken him to Loki._

_He rises and approaches. On hearing his footsteps, the Aesir stiffens and attempts to dry his face, stares up at him, fear overcoming his defiance. He reaches down and pulls his golden chain- thin, unbreakable- from the wall. The man pulls in tighter on himself, as if to make it harder on him to take him, despite the added agony it is sure to cause him._

_He ponders what to call him; he cannot call him Odinson without hurting him further, and he is hurt enough, for Odinson is the slur his brother throws at him, and he has seen him shrink in on himself and hate it more and more, hate his father where at first he was proud to be Odin's son. He cannot call him the King of Asgard, for his golden city has fallen and that, too, is a slur, reminding him of his weakness, his failure to protect his people. He cannot call him kind things, because they will be seen as patronising, humiliating for a warrior, and he is still a warrior. He cannot call him cruel things, because he has been treated cruelly enough already. He settles on calling him nothing._

_"Come," he says, pulling him to his feet gently, offering his hand. The Aesir does not take it, backing into the wall as he defiantly stands on legs that barely support him._

_"Not for you," he snarls. "Never for you." Oh. Of course. Fool._

_"I apologise," he says, pain twisting his face. He had not intended to further hurt him. "My word choice was thoughtless. I merely meant follow me." The Aesir's eyes dart around the hall as if counting the other places he can be chained and taken, measuring the discomfort he will find in them, before returning to his face, evaluating him for the level of sadistic glee he will take from making him cry. "I will not take you, I promise." The naked shock, suspicion and relief on the Aesir's face is enough to tear him open, and as he inevitably collapses he catches him before he hits the ground and puts him gently on his feet again as he flinches away._

_"You must eat," he says, taking him to the table and sitting him down. Numbly, he does, eating whatever he puts before him. It isn't much; water (for mead is not going to do him any favours, nor will Loki if he returns drunk, and he has been long enough without it that will go straight to his head), a slice of bread spread with butter and a golden apple of Idunn. He stares at the apple in astonishment, stares up at him, indecision and crippling fear in his eyes. Then he makes his decision, snatches it up and takes a bite from it._

_His eyes close in bittersweet ecstasy and his head lolls back slightly, a single tear slipping down his cheek from his red and puffy eyes, one nearly swollen shut. He looks so tired. He debates for a second before putting a hand out to stop him falling off the bench as he sags back dangerously and he jerks as if beaten from the light touch, dropping the apple back on the table, an apology automatically bubbling to his lips before he bites viciously down on it._

_He picks the apple up. Thor Odinson's eyes follow it with despair, then immense suspicion when he offers it to him again. Slowly, he reaches for it._

_"Eat," he urges and hesitantly he does so. When he is done, nearly inhaling it, he stares in open suspicion, resignation and desperate desire at him._

_"Why?" he finally asks in a voice so broken as to be dead. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?" He considers his answer. He does not want to alienate him with a lie, yet he will not accept the truth from him: that he wants nothing from him and is sickened by how he is treated. He chooses not to reveal that Loki is his kin; that he cannot stand his brother. He would never trust him then and he has no one he can trust other than his mother, and he can only see her when Loki allows him to._

_"Because you deserve kindness," he finally says and Thor holds his spine straighter, jutting his chin out in a show of strength he has not displayed in a long time._

_"I do not need your pity," he snarls. And he cannot deny that he does pity him. The truth must show in his eyes, for Thor turns away. "Leave me if you have only pity to offer me," he spits, unimaginable pain twisting his voice. He sighs and refastens him to the wall- for Loki will not be kind if he imagines he has managed to break his chains- leaving a thick Asgardian cloak beside him._

_At first it is ignored, but when he looks in not long later, Thor is asleep with it pulled tightly over him, the ends tucked beneath him, clutching it as if his life depends on it._

The silence is thick and uncomfortable.

"How is your mother?" Bylestir asks to break it and Thor stirs. "I haven't seen her."

"She has chosen to retreat to Alfheim," he says. "After I married Sif and we had Bruadar, she could not bear to stay longer. She has not returned in many decades." Just as Bylestir is about to retire and leave Thor to his brooding, the Aesir breaks the silence.

"I tried to forget." Thor's voice is quiet. Bylestir turns to him, curious. "Tried to forget your kindness." Thor is staring at the wall, unable to meet his eyes. "I wanted to hate all the Jotun. But I could not, because you had been kind. I hated you for that." Bylestir's mouth twists bitterly and he can think of nothing to say.

"You treated me like…" Thor swallows dryly and cannot look at him. "Like I mattered." There is silence which is taken up only by heavy breathing for several long minutes.

"Then you stopped." Thor's voice is so heartbroken Bylestir wants to explain, but he stops himself. Thor knows why. There is little point in saying it again. "You stopped and I couldn't understand why, if it was all a trick to get my hopes up just to crush them further. I tried to hate you for that, but you kept watching me, and your eyes…" he shakes his head. "Your eyes were so full of torment, as if you too were chained." Bylestir offers his hand, and Thor touches his fingertips to it with a pained smile.

"I suppose you were," he says, and there is silence.

XX

That night, Bylestir dreams of Thor.

_He is sitting on the step next to him when he introduces himself. Thor is sprawled from pure exhaustion. He was on his knees all day beside the throne, on the unforgiving tiles, and though he cannot heal him, Bylestir can offer him kind company._

_After a long, suspicious moment he accepts it._

"_I am Bylestir," he says and Thor looks up at him. His shoulders are slumped and his eyes are averted to the ground. He gazes at his shaking, withering frame, and sighs, remembering the warrior he was- and still is, he reminds himself._

"_You know who I am," Thor croaks. "Whore. Weak. Sunderer of Asgard. Shamed king. Son of the accursed Odin."_

"_Who do you want to be?" he asks and Thor jerks back as if struck, eyes widening, shock and suspicion in his every line. It is clear none have asked him anything in so long, haven't spoken to him kindly. They just jeer and mock and hurt. His brother, certainly, has not discouraged them. When he opens his mouth to answer, he has a coughing fit before managing to regain control of himself, one that racks his whole body._

"_Can you…" he hesitates. "Please … just… Thor?" He's holding his breath, and Bylestir nods. Some of the tension drains from his body and fresh tears bubble to his eyes._

"_Is there anything you require, Thor?" he asks. The words cross the Aesir's lips unconsciously, low and vicious, terribly hurt._

"_That bastard's head," he snarls. "The damned Jotun out of my city." He then stares in fear at him. "Sorry," he whispers. Bylestir understands the desire and says so. Thor bows his head with a deep relieved breath. He offers the cloak to him, it is accepted and silence falls._

_He leaves him a glass of water the next day, a golden apple, and these things are quickly devoured. As time goes on, Thor begins to look for him, pale hope in his eyes, and his strength returns. He fights more, talks more, starts to ask him questions that he is very careful about answering. If he lets slip that he is one of Laufey's get, Thor will close down to him. He asks about his mother, about the Nine Realms._

_One day he offers to take him to a private garden, where he will not be gawked at or taken, can just enjoy the sunshine without fear, and he agonisingly slow to decide, chewing his lip and kneading his fingers, hands going to his collar, holding the cloak around him in the same action, the cloak that Bylestir has taken to giving him when they are alone, his desperate desire to do it panned out by equally powerful fear._

_"He will not know," Bylestir offers and Thor's head jerks up, breath catching in his chest. Finally, his hand on his collar, he shakes his head. Bylestir bows his head in acceptance of his decision, but Thor's eyes narrow and his voice bursts from him._

_"Do not mock me so," he snarls. He flings the cloak at him. Bylestir's eyebrows rise at the outburst and he frowns as he takes the cloak, folding it neatly over his cerulean arm, trying to figure out what he did to set him off. Thor stalks away from him as far as his chains allow and he leaves, leaves the Aesir king with what little remains of his dignity._

_It is mere minutes before he realises that Bylestir left the cloak for him again, and he snatches it up, covering his bruises with it as best he can, curling on the unnaturally cold floor and shivering._

When he wakes, he remembers why he stopped going to him, remembers the conversation with his brother that cut all his contact with the Thor, and regrets, not the first time, ever going to see Loki.

_"Why do you leave him?" Bylestir's voice cuts across Loki's pen scratching on heavy parchment and he raises an eyebrow, turning to look at his brother._

_"Why? Do you care? How charming," Loki says, disinterested, and Bylestir drags him around. His eyes are narrowed in annoyance._

"_You tread a find line, brother," he warns, but the younger giant just snorts._

_"Listen well, runt," he says. "He has lost enough already. Remember how we found you?" And Loki's eyes narrow too. He remembers, remembers the wretched thing he was when he was taken in by Bylestir and nursed back to health. "Do you wish for me to have withheld my mercy then, too?"_

_"If you keep leaving him things," he says, turning away and back to his work, "I'll leave him outside all day, every day, in the middle of the gardens to be taken like a common whore. If you show him kindness, I will leave orders to bar you from him, forever. I will take every comfort he has. The warm bed," and Bylestir thinks he wouldn't mind missing out on that, except he knows that he will be left kneeling all night beside it and will never get any sleep, "the warm clothes I give him, access to Mother." He stares into the runt's crimson eyes, almost amused as he pulls back._

_"Access to his mother," he corrects too late, and Bylestir stalks out the room._

_He does not wish to deprive Thor of the only things he has left, and so heeds Loki's words and shows him no kindness, leaves him nothing. Thor stares at him, at first in confusion, then desperation, then utter betrayal, and after that refuses to meet his eyes. It hurts. It hurts like nothing else, but he still watches over him, if only for his own sake, to ensure he is treated- he watches him, because he cares. If Loki is too rough, consequences be damned, he _will_ take him from here._

Shaking the old memories away, he closes his eyes again and turns his mind to happier, more recent things.

_Thor is holding his son down and tickling him as the boy shrieks with delight. Sif watches them and as Thor lets him go, Bruadar runs to him by the wall and hides behind him. The pain and anger that flashes in Thor's eyes vanishes in an instant as his son's sky blue eyes peek out from behind his protector._

_He stalks forwards, grinning._

"_I'm going to get you," he announces and a loud shriek of laughter sounds as he dives behind Bylestir's large back. Bylestir meets Thor's eyes and both smile without a hint of pain or shared history- just enjoying the antics of the child._

_It hits Bylestir very suddenly that he loves the child, loves Sif, and would die to protect them. It seems to occur to Thor, too, for the gratitude in his eyes can be for nothing else at this moment. Bylestir moves further in front of Bruadar and crosses his arms over his chest playfully._

"_Come and get him," he taunts and Bruadar laughs gleefully as his father does indeed stalk forward and tackle Bylestir._

_If when Bylestir has him pinned, his struggles become genuine and fear shines in his eyes, neither mention it, and the game is ended as Bruadar comes to snuggle between them._

"_Frost Giants aren't mean, Father," he says sleepily as he rests his curls into Bylestir's side. He is soon asleep, and Bylestir tucks an arm around him._

_Thor moves away and lets Bylestir hold his son, his watchful, wary eyes trained on him._

XX

It is the next day that Thor, Sif and Bylestir sit Bruadar down and tell him not to trust any other Frost Giants unless told to by someone he trusts. He frowns in confusion.

"Why?" he asks. It is Thor who explains.

"During the occupation…" he begins and pain flashes in his eyes and he balls his fists. "The Jotun do not like me," he starts again. "They want to hurt me. If they have to, they will go through you to do it." Bruadar gasps.

"Why? That's so mean!"

"Because both our peoples are angry and hurt because of the wars," Bylestir says. "We both need time to heal."

"So why are you here?" Bruadar asks, eyes so innocent it hurts.

"Bylestir is special, sweetie. He helped your father during the war," Sif says and shoots a smile at Bylestir. Bruadar grins brightly.

"So you're family!" he exclaims happily, and both Sif and Bylestir look at Thor, who visibly struggles to answer.

"Yes, he is," he finally says, and tears pool in Bylestir's eyes. He touches Thor's hand, and Thor does not move away, even as he tenses.

"Does that mean he's staying here? Can I introduce him to my friends? How did you help Father? What did you do?" The torrent of questions bursts forth and the adults shush him.

"He won't be staying here," Sif says, and Bruadar's face falls. "There is bad blood between our people- it would not be safe for him." Concern blooms into being in those innocent eyes.

"They'd hurt you? But you're family!" Bylestir chuckles, looks at Thor for permission. Thor nods and he pulls Bruadar into his lap.

"They won't see that, son," he says, and doesn't even realise what he's called him. "They will just see me as another Frost Giant. But as long as you know that I'm family here," he touches a blue finger to his heart, "I'll be happy." Bruadar snuggles against his chest.

"Okay," he says.

XX

As a family they see Bylestir off. He locks arms with Lady Sif, as is right for a warrior, pulls Bruadar into his arms and stops before Thor, who smiles at him and holds his barely shaking arm out. They lock arms and embrace.

"Thank you," Thor whispers, chokes out, and he does not have to ask what for. Thor continues anyway. "For everything." He pulls back and stares Bylestir in the eyes.

"Safe journey, brother," he says. "Heimdall."

As the bifrost takes him away, Bylestir cannot stop smiling.


End file.
